"orchestrator" poems
All the earth speaks to Your glory Lord
The trees strong and tall stretch up to the sky
Giving food, shelter, shade to so many creatures
The flowers so delicate and beautiful bringing color
And joy to so many. A wonderful gift
The birds, insects, and all creatures create a symphony
You are the master orchestrator Lord
The wind: at times gentle and pleasant others powerful and destructive
Sometimes moving or inspiring, still more, pushing, prompting
Water: reminding of patience, calm, creativity
Great power. Life giving and Life taking. Water shows
The power of teamwork.
Fire: so much power and destruction. Violence and death
But cleansing, purifying, strengthening too
A little bit can be light, a source of pleasant warmth
A guide and used properly a blessing; attractive to others
All nature all earth speaks to Your glory Lord.
Praise and Glory and Honor to You Lord of All!
Amen!
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
I am the orchestrator of my own destruction.
For it is I who reins down fire on my own temple,
And it is I who salts the earth so the seeds of good intentions will never grow.
When the turmoil on the inside is hidden by the calm exterior,
It is I who tears down the beautiful façade to reveal the churning black poison underneath.
When the polite smile shows only an angels face,
It is I who cries out “Deceiver!” and rips away the mask to expose the devil within.
For I am the orchestrator of my own destruction
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
O, I believe there might be something out there we can't see.
Some Cosmic Orchestrator or Supreme Divinity...
But why would it be calling you, just you and you alone?
If It's just all-so-powerful, it knows to use the phone.
I really see no reason, there's no reason I can see
Why God would bother calling you, and never ring up me.
But then again I'm just a simple man who won't define
The wherefore and the whatnot or the mind of The Divine.
Yet still I have a doubt or two that you've heard Holy Word...
Your actions speak much louder, Sir, than anything I've heard
From your lofty pulpit where you rant and proselytize
And tell us God just told YOU all the things we should despise.
But then again I'm just a simple man who won't define
The wherefore or the whatnot or the mind of The Divine.
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 3:55 PM UTC
Tis not my mind
Nor my heart
Tis not my word
Nor my speech
These rhythmic impulses
Striking gently against my nerves
And dripping...
These droplets of harmony
Absorbed; on the pages of time
This verse or perhaps a tune
This theme or perhaps a symphony
To be sung or perhaps unsung
To be heard or perhaps unheard
Yet splashed and imprinted
On the score of a lovers heart
I be the lover; Him be my beloved
As I looked up to the heavens
And drank the pouring rain
Cascaded down from my beloved's abode
To soak and fill the cracks of my imagination
And you my friend!
A passersby;
In quest of your beloved's song
But when your beloved sings not,
Return..
Within,
To hear your silver chimes
Hear once and hear again
How the tumult ends
Rewarded or unrewarded
Never you are empty handed
Hence leave your instrument of doubt hither
On your stage of tenet
But seek and return; again
And see with each return
How your orchestra rises, how it plays
How you hear and how you sway
For then, you'll be the lover
But only He will be your beloved
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 2:32 PM UTC
He comes out of his house, off into his ****** limousine,
The pride and glory of American handicraft,
Drives away past his main gate, guarded by a Luhyia national,
The nation from which watchmen are mass manufactured,
The gate is banged closed with a sharp emblem dominating;
tafadahli umbwa kali, please fierce dogs are in don’t dare enter,
when no piece of a dog is in, hen pecking husbands perhaps,
He drives away in low spirit, like the tail of a snake,
Sharply contrasting his tiger thoraxed debates in the parliament,
In defence of state corruption; Anglo leasing and her sisters,
The wife has chased out our state officer, his sole Succor,
of the night and chilly loneliness so nameless ,in the streets of Nairobi,
Is the epiphanous street of koinange, after Mbiu Koinange
The colonial orchestrator of intellectual globalectics,
He sired political immorality that sired social depravement,
To rove his avenues as the state and money capitalist
Convert beautiful daughters of the poor peasants
Into defenseless protégés of class misfortune
Roaming the back streets minus
Any lingerie in their bosoms.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
there is this candle that i keep
in a box and i save it for nights
when i want to think of y o u,
when the summer air is too hot
a n d i can imagine that you
would have turned o u r air
conditioning up so high t h a t
i would have had to put on a
sweater while you stripped
downtonearlynothing.i wonder
if we would have had those
gardens you talked about or if
you would have taught me to
tolerate beer. i usedto think you
were the s o l e orchestrator of
every sunset i had ever seen,
that you m u s t have bartered
some part of y o u r soul in
exchange for that laugh you
had, that all of the absolute ****
i had gone through was simply
there t o l e a d m e t o you.
but you did not love me t h e
same way, you d i d n o t love
m e the s a m e way.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
Once dubbed 'number two,' a label, a haunting echo, a constant reminder,
From a third year’s Scrabble match that left me second best, the genesis of a nickname I hated.
The bitter taste of second place, a memory stark,
A reminder of striving, of yearning, yet falling short.
Averse to the shadow of 'not quite,' 'almost there, but...'
It's funny how being second haunted me,
Always striving to escape my past and secrets.
I've hidden the truth about my family,
A split that's more than what the world knows, I’ve always been ‘the secret child’
A narrative whispered, diluted, for ears unacquainted.
Universe never seize to mock me with it.
Contemplating the roads I could have paved better,
Guarding what was precious, fortifying with fervor,
I’m here , pondering the 'what ifs' and 'maybes,'
A lament for the present, with heavy eyes and teary-eyes. Regrets linger for not trying harder.
Three years invested, hopes were shattered,
I don't blame you for trying to rebuild, giving it another try.
Instead, I blame fate, the ‘Universe’ A relentless orchestrator, marking me perennially 'two,'
Even when love briefly eased the burden.
Now, in the quiet of night, in sorrow's embrace I write,
Words once sweet now tinged with pain,.
I've been through a rollercoaster of emotions,
For days now, you’ve witnessed my descent and ascent, I blamed you, I tried being strong, became a wreck, got drunk to prove a point, isolated , sought validation from internet, found myself overwhelmed by the attention and tried to convince everyone ‘I’m fine’, I felt numb.
Right now I’m just a shattered soul seeking solace in poetry’s embrace.
Every emotion, a verse, every thought, a line inscribed, writing seems to be my only solace.
To the boy I loved and wanted to give it all to, I’m thinking of you and I just want you to always be happy, being second doesn’t mean I can’t still be your number one cheerleader.
We always thought alike and wanted the same things; I do not wish to hate you as you don’t want it too.
I want to keep you as much as you want to do with me ,
Let's move past this, erase the awkwardness,
Let not animosity tarnish what affection once graced,
I hope we can salvage our friendship soon.
Dec 21, 2023
Dec 21, 2023 at 2:00 PM UTC
You who crossed over
the next decade like a stranger
on slowly familiar lands
No you are not mine to begin with
I merely cut open
Like a surgeon
Only I wasn't saved.
They'll say you tried to ****
me then
What a story
What a cry
The swan song
Plays itself repeatedly
like a haunted rhyme
I am not a listener
I am the orchestrator.
Although I fail to
build from scratch
without reducing
myself to you
or anything at all
Fragility is my downfall
And you know very well
how to shatter.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
Sunset turn the sky a light crimson,
the same color of my wrist and thighs.
They sing the song about the blades as the brush and the wrist as the canvas but they forgot to mention the mind.
Its the paint spreading the pain all around,
coloring our thoughts a deep shade of blue.
What about the heart?
It being the orchestrator of it all.
Giving you a place to store every creation and every cry...
if these are the tools we use to create our destructive pieces then who is the painter?
You.
The ones who take priority in making my painting a disaster.
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 10:13 PM UTC
SONG OF THE PAINTER
(Dedicated to ...)
My mind swims in the endless sea
Of myriad shapes and colours
A mysterious force guides my hand
To create light, shade and contours.
The whole universe beckons to me
Its pulse I feel, its beauties I see
I let my fancies roam wild and free
I touch the edge of eternity.
Every stroke of my brush
Vibrates like a string of my heart
I leap into a kaleidoscopic world-
The Acadian garden of art.
In every shape and colour
An echo of music do I hear
The painter is an orchestrator
Of beauty that is ever sweet and dear.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 6:57 AM UTC
My face
Stole the skin of a diamond
To tote as it’s own mask of
Sheepskin.
Me, being the ever-ovulating orchestrator
Needed to pin the tail on this donkey
Only to rationalize why it is
Only in our nature to scrutinize
Our flaws, like a jeweler.
Each facet is forced to plead their case
While in the back of their mind’s eye
They know they will only be allowed on probation
Until the abuse from the lapidary starts again.
Tell me I’m not a real diamond
But then have the courtesy
To shatter me
Back into young, unglazed sand
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 8:01 PM UTC
I wonder if god is watching me.
I wonder what he thinks of my choices.
At least I’m plastering ink over my scars, at least this pain is creative.
At least I stay away from the bottles and the pills lately, at least my monsters and me share a clear head now.
I could have been dead by now, wouldn’t have changed much to you.
You only answer my screams with silence, bouncing wall to wall. Deafening.
You, this mythical engineer.
You bringer of life, orchestrator of pain.
You left me, clawing, moaning, bleeding.
You could have saved me.
I wonder if god ever watches me, I wonder if he’s proud of me.
Sep 17, 2020
Sep 17, 2020 at 6:53 PM UTC
A planned happening from the past
Set to be at a predetermined date
Two people would look up at the same thing
More than a thousand miles away
I, the romantic, and
You, the orchestrator
Set out in the chartered dark night
At different hours but still the same time
Frantic feet down stairs
Scuffling movements through sand
I open a creaky door with hasted hands
And we both look
Up
And above us both
Is a clear night sky
Lucky conditions yet
Not the right time
The moon
Sailed quietly
In another plot’s
Seeking eyes
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 8:02 PM UTC
Liberate me upon the depths of your voice, synchronize your voice upon my graceless steps.
Let your light lead me through & through , dancing in sync eternally.
Orchestrated by the orchestrator is the tune of my life undoubtedly.
Privileged in heaven above, persecuted down below.
Earth was never my home just the place that I danced through.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 3:24 AM UTC